Neighbors (4 page)

CHAPTER TWO

There was warning, of a sort, but it was all rhetoric by the leaders of half a dozen nations. Accusations, counter accusations, warnings and counter warnings. It was enough for Hank to move his stored sandbags to fill the basement windows and doorway, and cover the house floor over the shelter. Then, when it happened, it happened quickly.
Russia launched tactical nuclear missiles against the newly installed anti-missile defenses that the US had installed in Poland. That seemed to be the trigger for all else that happened. The US retaliated in kind. India and Pakistan attacked each other with their nuclear arsenals, China moved on Taiwan and the US intervened.
Israel was hammered by everything the Arab and Muslim coalition in the Mid-East could throw against them, including the thought to be a few years away nuclear capability that Iran had developed. There were additional nuclear devices used against Israel including suicide bombers driving nondescript vehicles with tactical warheads in the trunks.
But Israel went down fighting. All four-hundred plus of her nuclear devices were delivered to the enemy, three-hundred eighty-seven of them successfully.
At first, it looked like China would back off from the Taiwanese invasion, but when Taiwan not only defended its shores, but launched their own conventional missile attack against the Chinese troop buildup on the mainland; China began dropping nukes on the island, and the two US Fleets in the area.
Everyone with nuclear capability was drawn into the conflict on one side or the other. It was what had been feared since the beginning of the Cold War. Global Thermonuclear War.
Hank’s first knowledge of the start of the war was when his NOAA All Hazards Alert radio squealed and instructions on how to build expedient fallout shelters was given. He didn’t hesitate. He got up from his desk at work, put his head in his boss’ office and said, “I’m out of here. I suggest you duck and cover. I’ll check in after this is all over.”
Sam Smith just looked at Hank blankly. Hank shook his head and ran for his Suburban. He had taken to carrying a lot of cash stashed on his person and in the Suburban, with the intent to pick up last minute items in case the worst happened.
Thinking about it for merely seconds, upon seeing the crowds rushing into the store he was stopping at, Hank turned around and headed home at the fastest speed that was safe. There were already people from the cul-de-sac heading for the shelter.
Thinking of the four families living in other areas of the development, Hank thought for another couple of seconds, ran down the steps into the basement and grabbed what he considered his combat gear, and went back upstairs.
He thought about taking the Suburban down to the gate, but quickly dismissed that idea. It was better off inside the garage. Hank broke into a shuffling run and made it to the gate in a couple of minutes. A resident was just pulling up. It was Elizabeth. Her eyes wide, she looked at the heavily armed Hank, then used her card key to open the gate. She drove through without a word to Hank.
There was a steady stream of residents returning to the cul-de-sac. Then the first non-member of the group pulled up to the gate. “Let me in! I know you have a big shelter!”
Hank didn’t have time to think about it. When the man thrust a pistol out of the driver’s window Hank automatically dropped the muzzle of his PTR-91 slightly and pulled the trigger. The round went through the window opening and struck the driver in the throat. The pistol dropped from his left hand as both hands went to his ruined throat.
Hank stood there in shock for over a minute. But then Juan drove up in his construction truck. Juan went pale despite his dark complexion when he got out of the truck and ran over to Hank, catching sight of the blood spattered inside of the windshield of the car blocking the way.
“Come on, Hank, my friend! Snap out of it! Help me push the car…”
Hank shook his head, as if shaking off a heavy load, and ran with Juan over to the dead man’s car. Hank reached through the window and shoved the man over on the seat. Fortunately the car was still in gear and Hank was able to shift it into neutral without having to get in and step on the brake.
He and Juan pushed and the car rolled away down the slight slope, to come to rest in the ditch that paralleled the entrance to the gate. Pete drove up and waited for Juan to get into his truck, open the gate and drive through before he followed suit. “I’ll be back to help!” he called through the open passenger window to Hank. Hank nodded, relieved.
There were no more interlopers for a while as resident after resident came home. Hank thought about just leaving the gate open, but after mentioning it to Pete, who was back, armed to the teeth, the decision was made to keep it closed and open it only when the person was identified.
William and Julie showed up a bit later, both armed. They waved at Hank and Pete, and then took up prone positions nearby to back the two men up. At ten minutes till noon, the sky went brilliant white in the direction of the city’s airport. Hank and Pete dove behind the block wing walls of the gate. William and Julie covered their heads and stayed where they were.
The pressure of the shock wave pressed the air from their lungs and the sound, beyond loud, hurt their ears. Then the shock wave reversal sucked the remaining air from them. All four gasped for breath and shook their heads, trying to get rid of the ringing noise.
Quick looks showed the ugly mushroom cloud beginning to grow in the distance. Pete had to wait a few moments to collect himself, but Hank got back up and went to the gate. He tried his key. The gate wouldn’t open. “EMP,” he called to the others and unlatched the manual gate release.
A convoy showed up a few minutes later, three vehicles with a total of five trailers being pulled. It was the residents from outside the cul-de-sac that had bought into the shelter. “We lost one vehicle to EMP,” yelled Stan Jenkins. “But we got everything transferred to the rest of the rigs.”
Hank nodded and opened the gate manually. He noted the shoulder holstered handgun that Stan wore as he drove through the gate. His wife appeared to be armed, too. It was the same in the other two fully loaded vehicles. Hank didn’t know what they were bringing, but was sure whatever the vehicles and trailers contained would be of use to the community. Definitely the firepower.
That was the last of the vehicles that showed up. More residents straggled in on foot, moving as quickly as they could. Non-residents showed up, too. But the presence of four armed people at the gate turned them away without any real confrontation.
Juan came trotting down the street toward the gate. “Elizabeth and a couple more took a headcount. All here but nine.”

“Thanks, Juan,” Hank said. “I’d totally lost track.” He looked up as dust began to rain down. “Into your shelters!” he yelled. “Wash off before you go in.”
Pete, William, Julie, and Juan all took off as fast as they could run. Hank looked toward the approach street and saw the Stevens family approaching. Sara was carrying the baby, Steven the next oldest, and holding the hand of their third child.
“Hurry!” Hank yelled, seeing a rather large group of people approaching from the other direction. He opened the gate and ran to meet the Stevens. He swept up Bradley and all three adults ran full tilt toward the gate. So did the approaching group.
Hank and the Stevens made it first, but not by much. As the family headed for the shelter, Bradley once again on his own feet, Hank turned and locked the gate just as the mob reached it. Hank turned and ran, hearing shots behind him. He began to zigzag, but took a round high in his back in his left shoulder. He went sprawling, hitting the ground hard.
But gunfire erupted from in front of him and he pushed to his feet, and continued toward his house as his neighbors covered his back. Elizabeth and Juan met him there and urged him to go to the community shelter. But he refused. “No. Mine. You all will need all the space you can get.”
“I’ll stay with him,” said a woman running up to the three as the rest of the neighbors headed for the shelter. “I’m a Paramedic.” She motioned with her thumb at the large pack on her back. “My medical kit.”
Between them, the three got Hank into his basement. Elizabeth and Juan headed back to the community shelter as the woman helped Hank get off his combat harness and shirt.
“This doesn’t look too bad,” said the woman and shrugged out of the pack straps.
Hank was silent, except for some grunts and groans as the woman worked on the wound. “Bullet went through. I think it probably chipped the collarbone. I’d X-ray it if I could, but it shouldn’t be a problem, anyway.” She taped bandages over the entrance and exit wounds.
“Who are you?” Hank finally asked as the woman turned and looked around until she found the basement bathroom in the shelter so she could wash up.
“Bernie Hawthorne. Bernie. Short for Bernice.”

“Oh. I thought Bernie was a guy.”
“Not in this lifetime. We both are contaminated and need to shower off before we go into the shelter. You have something I can wear? My other gear is in the other shelter.”
Moving slowly from the pain and the stiffness of the wound, Hank found a trunk in one corner of the basement. “I think this stuff should fit you. Might be a little storage smell on them.”
Bernie opened the trunk. It was filled with women’s clothing. She didn’t ask where they were from. She picked out something and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
Hank picked up the PTR-91 and walked over to one of the basement windows facing the cul-de-sac entrance. He was none too soon. Though it hurt, he opened the window, lifted the PTR to his shoulder and fired off a round. One of the men trying to climb the gate fell back, screaming, though Hank couldn’t hear it.
Hank decided someone else was keeping an eye on the gate from where they were. Another person fell and the group at the gate broke and ran. Except for four. It was Bren, his wife, and two children. They walked up to the gate and waved.
Bernie came out of the bathroom wearing a jump suit and Hank turned to her. “I need to go let the last people in before I shower.”
“Oh, no you don’t!”
“Oh, yes, I do!” Hank said and headed for the basement stairs. Hank didn’t hear what Bernie said, but he suspected it wasn’t very nice.
There was suddenly a pistol in her hand, but she didn’t point it at Hank. Instead, she said, “Then let’s go and get back.” She led the way up the stairs.
Hank fumbled a magazine out of one of the pouches on the battle vest and into a pocket. He knew he couldn’t get the vest on again for a while. But with a full magazine in the PTR and one in his pocket, he decided he was okay.
Hank followed Bernie all the way to the gate. He looked around once and saw Pete wave from one of his basement windows. He had a view of the gate, too, just not as good at the one from Hank’s basement.
“The keys… My left pocket…” Hank couldn’t get the key ring out of his pocket.
Bernie reached in and pulled out the key and used it in the lock on the gate. She’d barely swung it open enough for Bren and his family to slip through when they were charged by some of the group hiding out of sight in the plantings along the wing walls. Bren and family, unlike Sara’s family, were bundled up in raincoats and hats to keep the fallout off their skin.
Hank lifted the PTR, but Bernie was much faster. She fired half a dozen rounds in few seconds and the small group dove back to their scant cover. With the gate locked again, and Bren and his family on the run toward the community shelter, Hank and Bernie began to go up the street backwards, keeping an eye on the gate. At least one person had shot at Bernie when she fired on the group.
But no one tried anything and Bernie and Hank went back into the house, then the basement. Without a word, Bernie fetched another garment from the trunk and went into the bathroom again.
When she came out a few minutes later, she had to help Hank get up and into the bathroom. She left him there. It was a long several minutes before he came back out, with a towel around his waist. Bernie had dry bandages ready and quickly replaced the water soaked ones.
Finally, she helped Hank into the shelter, and into a bunk. He was out like a light.
Hank came to several hours later and groaned when he shifted positions. He saw Bernie sitting at the small table in the kitchen area of the shelter, reading something.
Hearing the groan, Bernie looked over at the bunk and stood. “I want to check your wound,” she told Hank.
He nodded and managed to stand up on wobbly legs. Bernie turned around as the towel dropped to the floor. She heard Hank open the locker at the end of the bunk. A couple of minutes later Hank walked over to the table, wearing a pair of jeans.
“Wow,” Hank said. “Didn’t think a little wound like this would hammer me so bad.”
“One never knows,” replied Bernie. She peeled the tape and bandages from the entrance and exit wounds and cleaned the area again with alcohol pads. A few minutes later and fresh bandages were in place.
“You’re pretty good. And fast,” Hank said, getting to his feet again. He went over to the locker and took out a shirt. He put it on and buttoned it. “What have I missed?” he asked Bernie, going over to the small table against one wall. It held communication gear and a remote reading radiation survey meter.
“Do you know if the radiation is still going up or down?” Hank asked.
As Bernie spoke, Hank noticed the pad next to the meter. “I’ve been recording the levels…”
“I see. Peaked while I was asleep and falling now.” There was an old fire resistant file cabinet next to the table. Hank opened a drawer and took out a laptop computer.
“You have TOM’s spreadsheet for calculating shelter stay time?” Bernie asked, walking over to look over Hank’s shoulder as he sat down and opened up the computer.
“Yep. Assuming no more hits close enough to add new fallout…” Hank typed some numbers into the spreadsheet when it opened and then continued. “We’re in for five weeks or so before we can spend much time outside. Can go out to check after a week, and we’ll need to sleep in the shelter for several months. But the five weeks will get us past the worst of it.”
Bernie nodded. “I’m going to take a nap.”
Hank nodded and turned back to the computer.
The first week passed slowly. By the seventh day Hank was able to raise both Pete in his basement shelter, and those in the community shelter on the FRS radios each had. Pete and family were doing fine. Several people in the community shelter that had been caught in the fallout on their way home were beginning to show some of the effects of radiation sickness.
Bernie talked it over with Hank, and the two decided that Bernie should move to the community shelter to help with the ill. So both suited up in protective gear and left Hank’s shelter and house, Bernie carrying her medical pack.
Both were glad they were wearing respirators when they checked at the gate into the cul-de-sac. There were more bodies, already decomposing, than they’d left after the gunfight that resulted in Hank’s injury.
“Must have been a fight among those trying to get in,” Hank said, his voice slightly muffled despite the voice amplifier in the respirator.
“We need to do something with these bodies…” Bernie said.
Hank marveled at the calm tone of her voice. “But not now,” he replied. “The radiation level is still too high to spend more than a few minutes out here.”
Bernie nodded and they headed for the community shelter. To their surprise, there were three bodies outside the west entrance. No mention had been made about an attack on the shelter. But there were two rifles, a shotgun, and three handguns lying beside the bodies. There were marks on the outer entrance door that indicated the three had hammered at the door, trying to get in.
“Let’s check the east side,” Hank told Bernie and she nodded. It was the same scene, only with five dead, all carrying arms.
“We’re staying out too long,” Hank said. “Let’s move the bodies at the west entrance and get you inside.”
The two hurried back to the west entrance and dragged the bodies clear of the door. Hank pressed the intercom button beside the outer door, but nothing happened. After trying twice more, Hank took the FRS radio from his belt and keyed it.
There was an immediate response. “Hank, we’ve been waiting for you.” It was Bren.
“We’re at the west outer door. “We tried the intercom, but no one answered.”
“I’ll be right out to let you in.”
A few moments later and the door locking mechanism clanked, but the door didn’t open. “You back inside?” Hank asked on the radio.
“Yep. Come on in.”
Hank pushed on the heavy door and stepped inside the hallway that was part of the airlock entry to the shelter. Bernie was right behind him. Hank closed and locked the door and the two went to the inner door on the right side of the hall at the far end. It stood open.
Before they went into the shelter proper, Hank and Bernie took off their protective equipment and hung it up on pegs in the wall there for that purpose.
Elizabeth snagged Bernie and the two headed to look in on those suffering from radiation sickness. Hank stepped over to Bren and Henry. “Did you know there were bodies at both entrances?”
“I told you I heard something,” Bren said to Henry. “And that the intercom wasn’t working.”